


Awakening

by Fluffifullness



Series: Somnolence [2]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Afterlife, Alters, Angst, Back to life, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, I Don't Even Know, M/M, What Was I Thinking?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-29 15:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluffifullness/pseuds/Fluffifullness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Heaven - if that was, indeed, its proper name - was a really big place, and not at all unfamiliar. Actually, it took Shizuo a long while to figure out that something was different, because, well, nothing was. But it was really wrong - wrong and missing enough that he gave up on a peaceful world in order to return to the one that he'd left behind. He was called Tsugaru, then, but he was the same man who had died before Izaya's eyes almost a year ago.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't resist posting this, after all. 
> 
> Also, the tags involving Tsugaru. Tsugaru and the other alters have been written a lot of different ways, but I've never seen it done like this. He's Tsugaru because reasons, but he's Shizuo all the same. The story will elaborate on and explain this more fully, but I don't want to mislead anyone. The pairing is essentially still Shizuo/Izaya, though. Just thought I should tag both...

Heaven – if that was, indeed, its proper name – was a really big place, and not at all unfamiliar.

Actually, it took Shizuo a long while to figure out that something was different, because, well, nothing was. When he first woke up there, he was in his own bed. There was no sign of medical equipment and no lingering scent of disinfectant. But he didn’t know for certain why he noticed those two things – the mild spring day, the city washed clean by rain the night before, shouldn’t have had him thinking such morbid thoughts.

Such was the nature of that paradise, the reason that he became lost in it.

He showered, then, as if that was just the natural thing to do. And why wouldn’t it be? He ate breakfast and washed it down with a cold glass of milk. Kasuka called – an unexpected pleasure – and, though shy at first, Shizuo was able to carry on a nice conversation with his little brother. They hung up with a promise to go out for coffee at some point soon, and Shizuo had just enough time to meet Tom at one of their usual places. He spent the day working, getting mad and throwing public property in his usual fashion. Night fell unobtrusively and found him in a bar having a few drinks with his sempai.

Wash, rinse, and repeat. He sometimes had days off to relax and wander through Ikebukuro at his leisure. He chatted with Celty, stopped by Russian Sushi to grab the occasional bite to eat, and always returned home late to drift into a peaceful, dreamless, and pain-free – but why did that stand out to him so much? – sleep.

A comfortable routine with a touch of the extraordinary, just the way he liked it. A familiar thing. He gradually stopped worrying about the feeling he had – as if he’d lost something important.

 

It was quite some time – several months, maybe – before he met Orihara Izaya again. He smelled him, same as always, and he chased him. The usual antagonisms, provocations, threats and insults. The same airborne vending machines, the same rage. Izaya smirking, Shizuo livid and holding nothing back. And the same neat escape at the end.

“Catch ya later, Shizu-chan~!”

No, not even that was enough to make him realize it. He’d fallen into an illusory world, and he liked it too damn much to open his eyes to the very deep wrongness of it. His only remaining hint was that aching, empty feeling in his chest as the informant disappeared behind a building.

He ignored it.

But from then on, it wouldn’t leave him alone.

 

 “You alright, man?”

Shizuo gave a little start, brown eyes widening behind his shades as Tom’s voice cut into his walking reverie. “Yeah…”

The older man didn’t look even remotely convinced, though, for he cocked his head to one side and frowned. “Is it a woman?”

Shizuo blinked. “What?”

“You’re walking around in a daze, you know. Don’t tell me you’re thinking about a woman,” Tom explained teasingly, and Shizuo shot him an annoyed glare. He didn’t justify the comment with an answer, but it bothered him more than it should have. A lot of things did, and yet that didn’t seem like it should have come as a surprise; he was, after all, Heiwajima Shizuo, infamous throughout this city for his temperamental nature.

But.

This wasn’t the usual, explosive rage he felt when debtors gave him nonsensical excuses or when street punks made the mistake of picking fights with him. Nor, he decided, was it the same gnawing irritation that plagued him when Orihara Izaya was in town.

Something forgotten, something important. It was like he couldn’t breathe right, and the only way to fix that was to remember something whose nature he couldn’t possibly grasp. Similar to trying to recall the buried memories of one’s first years. Millions of seconds of a person’s life, whispered words and blurry faces, broken fragments of little moments. But Shizuo didn’t even have so much as a fragment.

That feeling was familiar, too. He’d forgotten once before, he decided another day – alone, now, and standing before his bathroom mirror – cracked slightly on one side where he’d once grasped it too forcefully.

“I’m sorry,” he said aloud, but he didn’t know why he said it. He was alone.

 

Alone only when he wanted to be. He had everyone the rest of the time – Tom-san and Shinra and Celty and the rest, and he really was content like this. He didn’t have to tell himself that, because it was indisputable.  He didn’t remember the first day, anymore, but he still felt like he’d been given a fresh start at some point recently. He didn’t know why, or why he cared to think about it, but it was as though time and the world around him had been severed somewhere and then sewn back together with something darker missing in the middle.

_I sort of know how that feels_ , Celty offered when, exhausted and confused, he finally decided to mention it to her.

“It seems important,” Shizuo muttered pensively, casually exhaling a stream of cigarette smoke as he did so. Celty’s broken memories were different from his – concrete, something more clearly defined and easily missed. She could search, if she so chose, for the thing that would help her take them back. But, Shizuo – “I might just be imagining things.” Would he even want them back? Wasn’t his current life perfect in its tranquility – patterns he could recognize, solidarity and nothing worse than the stress he was long accustomed to?

Here he fought his strength, and he thought he was starting to win. An understandable adversary, even if it was within himself. No – he could control it _because_ it was within himself.

Anything else was the same as the gray smoke that curled up from the glowing end of his cigarette – wispy and completely beyond his sphere of influence.

 

He eventually went to see a counselor – a really old-school guy, the type who apparently favored introspection – lying on your back on an incredibly uncomfortable leather couch and talking about your feelings – above all other forms of therapy. Needless to say, that didn’t pan out, and Shizuo apparently wasn’t the type to succumb to hypnosis, either.

He wasn’t called crazy, though; in fact, no one seemed at all surprised by his bewilderment. A little concerned, maybe, but it was like they considered this sort of thing fairly normal. Not earth-shattering, not a sign that something was as deeply wrong as Shizuo was sure it was, but normal – the sort of concern that anyone might have in times of stress.

Shizuo didn’t necessarily know a whole hell of a lot about normal, but he didn’t think he fit the profile these days.

And that became truer as time wore on. One morning, he woke up, showered, ate – everything in its proper order. All ready to go and with his hand on the knob, he hesitated, waited for his body to move itself forward. Tom would be waiting, and Celty would probably be around for him to talk to. He knew that Izaya was somewhere nearby, too, and he couldn’t let that go.

Hollow thoughts. He didn’t feel, anymore, didn’t regret or concern himself with how everyone would react to his irresponsibility. He was content now to simply pull his hand back, to retreat back into bed and to slip the battery out of his cell phone. He didn’t answer any calls that day or any day after, and he gradually stopped going out, save for food. It was lonely and depressing, and that pissed him off.

But being pissed off felt good, in a really masochistic sort of way. It was something he could hold on to.

And he did, until that wasn’t quite enough and he clung to his dreams instead.

 

Nothing in particular revealed itself to him while he slept, of course. His dreams were just another facet of this long hallucination. They were empty, and he was empty. Just one thing caught his attention every night, and he clung to it because it felt real.

He thought he could hear the sound of someone’s heart breaking.

And, oddly enough, he was certain that it wasn’t his.

 

_Do you dislike this world?_

Another dream…

“No,” he answered, but his answer rang false. And, yet – to answer ‘yes’ would have been just as much a lie.

_Why do you hide from it?_

“I’m not hiding. I… I’m looking for something.”

_You will not find it here._

“Where, then?” And what the hell was he looking for? Wasn’t he just running away, as the voice had said?

No. He wanted something – maybe, just to know what it was he wanted. And there was something he had to do, somewhere, someone who needed him. Someone he needed.

_You cannot go there. You must give up on searching. What you seek is not for you to find._

“I can’t,” he whispered, desperate. “I can’t.”

_This is a world where you will always have everything that you need. You will never be without companionship and resources. Would you not prefer to forget your restlessness and embrace this world?_

Shizuo swallowed, squeezed his eyes shut and realized how very real the movement felt. He could see nothing around him, not even his own body. But he was awake, aware of his surroundings. “It’ll just keep coming back.”

Silence.

He was afraid, afraid of the dark and the not knowing and the possibility of finding out.

_Should you choose this path, you will never again experience the world as you knew it here._

“What path? What do you want me to do?” He wanted it so badly, and yet still he was scared.

_Do you value your relationships with people?_

“I… yes.”  But please, please – don’t make me give those up.

I have to find the source of that sound. I want to set it right.

_You will return to a place that has moved on without you. You no longer exist there._

“But I still exist here,” Shizuo pleaded. He didn’t know where it was that he was fighting to go, but he found that he couldn’t back down. The things he had to do, the things he had to find out. There was something out there that he wanted. So much that he could almost taste it.

_Your time has stopped. The dead do not return to life._

Dead.

Dead.

There weren’t any more words for this. It was true. Could he still want, then? Could he really exist?

_You can, because it has been deemed acceptable, but the past cannot._

“I don’t give a fuck about the past!”

_You are a part of the past. Do you understand? You will become an anomaly, feared and distrusted. That is the price of breaking fundamental laws. Do you trust that your relationships can overcome that?_

_Do you believe that this thing you seek is worth enduring the struggles of the living world?_

Tom-san. Celty. Shinra. Kasuka. All of them, all of the people who knew him. The Russian Sushi, the strength against which he had so struggled, the pulsing life of the city that had accepted him for the monster that he was. The things he’d forgotten. The wheels whose turning he couldn’t quite remember.

_You will wake up remembering the events that culminated with your arrival in this world. In return, you will forget the time you have spent here. The illusion was created for you, not you for it. It must not exist anywhere if you mean to abandon it. It will join the past in oblivion, and you will have to learn on your own of the changes that have shaped the new present._

“Have I… been gone a long time?”

_Perhaps._

_There is one more condition._

_You are dealing with rather capricious gods, Heiwajima Shizuo. We will not revive you and allow that name to follow you._

“I can’t damn well forget it,” Shizuo snapped, because he didn’t want to lose anything as important as that. He needed to be who he was. Surely they knew this?

He swore he heard distant laughter – not cruel, but fond. _You will remember it, but you will not use it. You will know what name to use when you awaken._

 

And he did, the darkness lightening and a sudden gust of chilly wind stirring in his blonde hair. He glanced wonderingly about at an Ikebukuro reposing under a fresh blanket of snow, and his breath formed white clouds as he spoke a single word.

“Tsu… garu…”

Lost and confused, because where had he just been? In a hospital bed, dying at _his_ side. At Izaya’s…

Izaya.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Izaya was lost, but not forgetful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, this is the first time I've included the chatrooms that appear so often in canon.

People who yearned to forget the past were fools. Trying to forget was the same as trying to destroy a part of oneself. If you already felt that you’d lost a lot, what good could losing more possibly do you? Would there be anything left if all the important and painful things disappeared? To Izaya, it seemed like the perfect way to let the cracks turn into fragmented bits and pieces. Like the perfect way to become permanently lost by burning what was left of the map, by throwing the compass into the seething waves below.

Izaya, who had always been ready to play the philosopher when it suited him, had passed an entire year thinking along these and other lines, wrestling with himself and with a grief that defied all reason. He’d spent a lot of time telling himself things like this, because it seemed that the more he clung to the past – and then, the more he ran from it – the more lost he became. He clearly remembered what he had once been like, but he couldn’t seem to fit back into that mold.

And so he was an actor now more than ever. Now, literally everything he did was an act – the excitement, the apathy, the job he so doggedly threw himself back into. Now, he was no longer just acting in front of everyone else; he was acting to fool himself, as well. And he was failing daily.

He fully understood the purpose behind Shizuo’s final requests, of course. The idiot had wanted him to live at least as happily as he had before. He’d thought that forgetting would be the best way for Izaya to do that, but, Izaya decided, he should have known better. Shizuo had forgotten once, too, and had it helped him any in the end? He’d fallen in love because of it, maybe, but he’d still died and he’d still worried about all the same things as before. He’d had _more_ to worry about, hadn’t he?

So, the informant instead tried in his own way to get back on his feet. He didn’t cry, not once, and he did leave Ikebukuro – for a few months, at least, until he felt that familiar attraction urging him to return. It was like he was being called by Shizuo’s ghost. He might have hoped, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he’d come across the blonde again someday. They’d fight, Shizuo chasing Izaya, shouting at him and dodging his throwing knives and maybe being maneuvered unwittingly into the path of a truck. Like always.

Or maybe they’d break that pattern and do something other than fight. Eat together, sleep together, live together. Shizuo would be endlessly full of surprises, and Izaya would be freed from the oppressive boredom that had taken hold of him since the blonde’s death.

He knew he was messed up for wanting to see that old routine broken again. He wanted his _old_ old life back, yet still he missed the new one that he hadn’t had a chance to experiment with. He really was lost.

It wasn’t fair. Everyone else had managed to move on – Tom, Celty and Shinra, even Kasuka. They were still grieving, too, and Izaya could see that because he was adept at human observation. He could read the same emotions that he was feeling in each and every one of them. Hell, he saw it in Dotachin and in Simon and in just about every other random human who had ever known Shizuo for even the shortest stretch of time. Those who hadn’t been close to him didn’t keep the look for long, of course, but they, too, still felt the occasional sting of Shizuo’s absence.

Yet Izaya could also see that none of those people were wandering astray. They were struggling a little, sure, but they knew what they had to do, every one of them, and they were doing it. There was purpose in their actions, while in Izaya’s there was nothing but a desperate misery and silent cries for relief.

Tom got himself a new bodyguard – not nearly as effective, of course, and Izaya was sure that he’d probably wind up looking for a replacement at some point soon. Kasuka took a brief break from acting, but when he came back it was to a wave of support from fans who continued to follow his latest roles. Celty and Shinra never stopped their own work; they must have been like pillars for each other in the early months. Izaya still supplied Celty with the vast majority of her carrier jobs, and the violence he sometimes helped cause gave Shinra more to do.

And, for his own part, he truly did try to drown himself in his work. He punished himself with it as if the pain alone could erase his emotions. Work, _life_ , wasn’t to him what it was to everyone else. He didn’t cling to his sanity; it clung to him, and he was unable to convince himself in even the furthest reaches of his sometimes-inebriated mind that Shizuo would return.

He didn’t jump to any conclusions, then, when he received an odd email from Shinra one morning – the sun sparkling on the heavy snow that had fallen early the last night – asking for Shizuo’s old medical records. It was easy for Izaya to access something like that, of course, and he sent the information Shinra’s way without so much as a request for compensation. The thing didn’t even serve as a reminder, didn’t dredge up anything Izaya hadn’t already been dwelling on.

He didn’t receive any immediate response or thanks for his timely help, and he didn’t bother with trying to find out why Shinra had wanted him to look something like that up in the first place. Apathy was something he had to fight all the time.

He fought it somewhat effectively, clearing his inbox of an enormous pile of questions and demands and then logging in to one of the many chatrooms that he liked to use for information gathering.

 

_Kanra has entered the chatroom._

 

_Kanra_

Anyone around~? Kanra-chan is so bored!

 

_Tanaka Tarou has entered the chatroom._

_Tanaka Tarou_

Ah, Kanra-san, long time no see

 

_Kanra_

^.^ I’ve been suuuuper busy with a lot of things

 

_Kanra_

Has anything exciting been going on that I don’t know about~?

 

_Tanaka Tarou_

Kanra-san usually knows about everything…

 

_Tanaka Tarou_

Oh, have you heard about the weird foreigner who was wandering around the city last night?

 

_Kanra_

Do tell! X)

 

_Tanaka Tarou_

Eh? It’s rare for you not to know about things like this. Though, I guess it’s pretty recent news

 

_Tanaka Tarou_

Actually, I only know about it because I happened to see him. He looked kind of familiar, but I only saw him from a distance

 

_Kanra_

An American? O_O

 

_Tanaka Tarou_

Maybe. He was blonde, but his clothes were like a samurai’s

  
 _Tanaka Tarou_

I mean, people don’t usually wear yukatas like that in the winter, right? I think that’s why he was getting a lot of attention from people

 

Kanra

An American samurai, huh? Sounds neat! X)

_Tanaka Tarou_

Now that I think about it, maybe he looked a little like Heiwajima Shizuo-san?

 

Izaya abruptly leaned back in his swiveling chair, away from the computer, and narrowed his eyes. Shizuo? Of course that was impossible, but the fact that the man’s name had come up twice now in one morning seemed an odd coincidence, and one deserving of further investigation.

 

_Kanra_

Heeeeeh? Maybe it’s a spirit or something! Scary!

 

_Tanaka Tarou_

I think that’s impossible… (-_-;)

 

_Kanra_

I hope I can meet him~ Do you know anything else~?

 

An altogether clumsy job of seeking information, but Izaya had no more patience for this conversation. What was it? A small degree of motivation that he hadn’t felt in a long time? That was enough, and he meant to latch on to it immediately. He would quickly take whatever else Ryuugamine Mikado could give him, and then he would build on that – maybe through direct observation, if he could manage it.

 

_Tanaka Tarou_

sorry, I can’t really say more than that, and there aren’t many rumors going around about it just yet

 

_Kanra_

Ah, I envy you~!

 

_Kanra_

Oh dear, looks like I’m needed – ttyl (^_-)-☆

 

_Kanra has left the chatroom._

 

And that was it. Not one of his shining moments as an informant, but that awkward forwardness truly was enough for now. Ignoring the pangs of hunger that radiated up from his stomach, Izaya climbed to his feet and readied himself for a trip outside.

He was exhausted, actually, having only slept a handful of hours out of the past week. It didn’t matter. He was used to it at this point, and he finally had something else to fuel him. It might have been hope, or it might have been something as simple as yearning for the impossible. Chasing a fantasy. It wasn’t all that different from he’d been doing, but it excited him more than anything had – he needed to grasp this chance. He didn’t believe in miracles, but he did believe in moving forward when the opportunity presented itself.

He didn’t want to feel like he was losing himself any longer.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day had begun.

Moments after Izaya shut his own computer down, Celty logged on to hers in order to read the chatroom’s log. It was her best attempt at relieving some of the stress that was threatening now to overwhelm her. Concern for the blonde who had appeared at their door the night before, and the secondary desire to check up on the rumors that may or may not have been spreading online.

Melancholic blue eyes fixed on his two friends – suspicious and a little frightened – that had been one of the many concerns that he had hesitantly mentioned to them. He’d apologized inordinately, bowed low and mumbled something about wanting to remain anonymous until he could be sure of a few things. His DNA, he’d explained at last, reluctantly – he wanted it analyzed, somehow, wanted to know that what he was now was _“the same as the person I look like…”_

_“I know I shouldn’t be here, but – Shinra, you’re the only one I can ask. I can’t do anything until I know.”_

Shinra had dared, then, to take a few uneasy steps toward this look-alike, to slowly extend a hand toward him and then to rest it on his snow-dampened shoulder. _“Shizuo-kun, you’re really… But that’s impossible…”_ The blonde had been cremated after his assured death, of course, and his physical appearance a year later was only slightly different from that of the Heiwajima Shizuo that had once been so alive and real and _natural_. To Shinra, who despite all of his profoundly odd involvements was nonetheless a man of science, it had been a kick in the teeth of all reason and rationality.

And Shizuo – visible, tangible, not a ghost or an illusion but warm, apparently healthy flesh and blood – had responded with a lonely smile. _“Call me Tsugaru,”_ he’d said, and Shinra had been at a loss to do anything but numbly nod his compliance.

A foreigner… yukata… a little like Heiwajima Shizuo…

Celty leapt to her feet as she came across the few lines on the screen that had so shaken Izaya just moments before. Not even bothering to read past those statements of Mikado’s, she rushed out of the room, found Shinra in the kitchen, and abruptly shoved her PDA in his face as he turned to greet her. _Trouble,_ she wrote. _There are already people talking about this._

Shinra blinked and sighed softly – altogether too calm, Celty thought, given that information like this could reach the ears of any number of dangerous or unbalanced people. Izaya, for one, and what about the reactions of normal humans to something so strange, so impossible?

“There’s nothing we can do about it. Besides, people talk about you on the ‘net all the time, and you don’t see anyone panicking about _that_.”

That was… true. When Celty appeared out in the open, of course, it wasn’t uncommon for her to become the focal point of a certain amount of uproar. A lot of that, however, could be contributed to the things she got herself involved in. For Shizuo – no, Tsugaru…

That aura of tranquility he’d had about him… That, like his eye color, like the cool blue yukata that complimented it, was different from the man they’d all known before. Celty honestly couldn’t imagine him in a fight.

But this wasn’t just about keeping the peace. _What about everyone else? His brother? And Izaya? You’re the one who lied about him, before._

He had, in fact – _“He’s about the same, I guess. It took a few months, but he’s back to his usual, manipulative self.”_ – but that was supposed to have been merciful. Because, Shinra explained presently, “Shi – Tsugaru-kun had his own problems to worry about then. We’re in luck, though; Orihara-kun just sent me a response a little bit ago.”

The doctor paused, either waiting for Celty to prompt him to continue or simply too lost in thought to continue right away. Celty finally gave in to impatience and let her fingers skitter very briefly across the keypad of her PDA – _And?_

“Genetically, Tsugaru-kun and Heiwajima Shizuo-kun are one and the same. I don’t understand it at all – I mean, part of a person’s genes should include those that determine eye color, but – he’s human, Celty. And what's more, he's perfectly healthy. Ther'es no sign anywhere of the disease that killed him...”

The sound of fabric rustling off to the side, and then a relieved sigh. “Thanks…” Celty and Shinra both turned to face the blonde, who had apparently been listening quietly from his place by the wall. His expressive eyes were just a little less melancholic now that at least one burden had been lifted from his shoulders. “Did Izaya… say anything? You didn’t tell him, did you - about me?”

“Of – of course not, Ts-Tsugaru-kun. He didn't say anything, actually - just sent the records."

Noticing how Shinra stumbled again over his name, the blonde smiled apologetically. “Sorry to have you call me something like that. Sounds kinda stupid, doesn’t it?” He didn't say anything about Izaya, but there was just a hint of disappointment in the way his shoulders sagged in response to Shinra's words.

_But putting that aside,_ Celty typed, interrupting whatever the doctor had been about to say by extending an arm in front of him. _What will you do now?_

Tsugaru glanced down at the floor before looking back up at Celty. “I don’t know. I mean, I guess I’d just get in the way if I hung around, and I know it doesn’t make sense for me to be here, so… I should probably leave ‘Bukuro first…”

“I don’t know what gave you that idea,” Shinra almost snapped. “You’re not in the way, Tsugaru-kun. Celty and I are both glad to have you here. Yeah, it may be a bit hard to get used to, but who wouldn’t be happy to have an old friend back?”

Tsugaru blinked, surprised, then made a fist with his right hand and stared down at it as a shadow of darker emotion crossed his face. “Shinra… Everyone’s already moved on. That’s how it’s supposed to be. I don’t… I mean, isn’t it wrong for me to be here now?”

Celty knew what he meant, and she mostly agreed, but still she felt her emotions getting the better of her as those words echoed painfully about the trio. She also knew exactly what she wanted to say, then, to those words. She wanted to wrap her friend up in a hug and tell him that he was wanted, dammit, that things were better this way and that the loneliness wouldn’t last.

Shinra beat her to it, though for once he didn't string so many words together right away. “Why don’t you ask them if they think it’s wrong?”

“Eh? But, that’d be the same… I can’t just barge back into their lives like nothing ever happened!”

Shinra, hands on his hips and mouth turned down at the corners as if he meant to scold his friend, responded more gently to that than Tsugaru had expected. “I can think of at least one person out there who genuinely needs you. You can’t honestly be telling me that you aren’t grateful for another chance at life, right?”

Tsugaru nodded and smiled hesitantly. “No, I’m glad – it’s just that I never had a huge place in this city, anyway. You said it’s been a whole year, Shinra. I guess I’m scared of losing what few connections I had back then.”

“Heiwajima Shizuo hasn’t entirely disappeared yet, you know. Not from the ‘net, and not from the minds of the huge number of people who knew you. You had a bigger place here than most people can boast of, Tsugaru-kun. You still have it. So take advantage of this rare chance!”

Tsugaru ducked his head, eyes wide and hand automatically going to the back of his head in an expression of what could only be called shyness. “So cliché,” he muttered, but the darkness was gone again, replaced now with a tentative wonder.

“Think I’ll head out,” he added after a moment of warm silence. “And… is it okay if I come back tonight?”

Celty extended her PDA toward Tsugaru again as he moved toward the door. _Try not to be too late for dinner._ It was the best she could manage right then, because suddenly the blonde seemed to be in a hurry - to go places, to meet people and to talk to them instead of hiding in the shadows of buildings and fear. To make a real comeback.

He waved, swallowed his apprehension, and stepped past his friends into the bright, chilly morning. He didn't know it, but the sun that struck his eyes in that briefest of instants was, in fact, the same sun that temporarily blinded Orihara Izaya. And he, too, drew a hand up to his forehead to protect his vision from that radiant light.

The day had begun.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But he would have to remember – would have to still be grieving, even now – if Tsugaru were to have a place in his heart. At his side. In his life. He wanted that place, maybe more than he wanted this.

The path that Tsugaru followed through Ikebukuro reminded him with almost brutal clarity of days gone by. It was crowded – probably Sunday or something, the blonde theorized – and everywhere he looked were familiar storefronts and vending machines that still showed signs of having been replaced numerous times. It wasn’t as if nothing had changed – things always changed in big cities like this – but a single year could never have hoped to erode the skeleton, the canvas upon which this vibrant place painted itself every day.

Tsugaru – his clothes, his hair, his face – might’ve stood out the night before. Now, though, he was one of a multitude of people, all bright colors and noise. He could blend in like this, and he did just that – kept a low profile and his head down, save for the occasional searching glance at his surroundings.

He fully expected to be found at some point, by someone. Until then, though, he had to apply himself to this resolve. He figured that a little shyness was allowable, of course, but he’d decided already that he wouldn’t hesitate to talk to the first person who should know him – Tom, maybe, or Simon. Someone who was usually calm, he hoped. Someone who might not freak out.

But, hey – Heiwajima Shizuo had never been the lucky type. That, of course, hadn’t changed, and tranquility was not what he found in his first reunion.

“Oh my God! Ne, ne, Yumachi~, doesn’t he look a lot like Shizu-chan?”

Shizu-chan. _Izaya_ , Tsugaru immediately found himself assuming, and he whirled around to face behind him, his eyes wide and expectant. “Iza – ”

He blinked, cut his cry short and swallowed the wave of raw emotion that had burst forth at that slight provocation. It’d been a woman’s voice. Yeah, it must have been. But who else had ever called him that..?

“Ah! You’re right, he does! This is incredible! Almost like a certain feudal priestess, ne?”

A man, but not Izaya. Was that ‘Yumachi?’ _Priestess?_

Tsugaru shifted his gaze a little and caught sight, then, of two rather suspicious-looking individuals standing not far from him. Large backpacks, probably about his age, give or take…

Ah, right. They were always with Kadota. Their names… “Karisawa… san?”

The two exchanged a quick glance, then, and rushed forward with their eyes practically twinkling with excitement. “Are you really Shizu-chan?!” Karisawa demanded, and Tsugaru was caught very much off-guard by the extra edge that glinted in her eyes. “I thought you’d died,” she added, curious; the bluntness stunned the blonde further, and he had to take an uneasy step back.

“Ah… yeah… actually, just call me Tsugaru.” He wasn’t denying anything – just making an odd request, which Erika promptly ignored.

She stifled a high-pitched squeal, her cheeks flushing as she reveled in some strange new burst of emotion. The boy beside her stiffened, brought his palm up to his face and looked like he was himself torn between excitement and exhaustion. “Then, then, does that mean you came back to life to help Izayan? A miracle of love, breaching the boundary of death~?!”

The blonde blinked and cleared his throat awkwardly. Miracle of love? “Are you sure?”

The man – Yumachin? – spoke first, this time, and indicated with his response that he had understood the meaning behind Tsugaru’s ambiguous question. “Of course, of course. Any true otaku should be able to accept something at least as simple as this!”

“Right,” Karisawa agreed, “anyone who can build an entire reality on anime and games can accept a little resurrection here and there!”

Shizuo wasn’t following this at all, but he chose nevertheless to indicate his comprehension with a nod. And then he realized something – “You said I should help Izaya, didn’t you? What did you mean?”

Karisawa’s eyes widened further. She looked positively stricken, now. “You mean you haven’t met him yet? How long has it been?”

Unbeknownst to Tsugaru, of course, was the probable fact that the fujoshi was worrying about the eventual fate of her ‘real-life boys’ love.’ Heck, Walker’s expression could have served as proof of that, but Tsugaru didn’t bother trying to read that far into Erika’s strange mannerisms.

He was, after all, just a little too preoccupied by the incredible ease with which these two had accepted the current state of affairs. Bewildered, too, by the mention of Izaya’s name and by the general barrage of excited chatter. He shook his head – an answer to Erika’s question as well as a weak attempt at reordering his thoughts. “A little less than a day…”

Karisawa perked up a little at that. “Does that mean Yumachi and I are the first to meet you?”

“Well, third and fourth,” Tsugaru admitted. “And? Is Izaya okay?”

“He’s so worried about Izayan,” the girl giggled, mostly to herself. It didn’t sound mocking, but rather… elated, maybe? Tsugaru, like many before him and many still to come, found that the best response was to simply ignore it.

More loudly, Erika added, “Izayan is mostly okay, I think, but Dotachin says he’s just a little different.” She leaned closer to Tsugaru and added, “I think he misses you – which is why you should go see him as soon as possible! If you’re lucky, he’ll be desperate for some – ”

The light-haired man, Yumachin – Walker, Tsugaru now remembered – clamped a hand over his excited companion’s mouth before she could say anything more. His expression was apologetic as he explained, “She gets like this. It’s better if you don’t worry too much about it.”

Tsugaru nodded abstractedly. He was less concerned, after all, by this strange pair’s antics and more concerned – increasingly so – by the news about Izaya. ‘Fine’ the informant apparently was not; Kadota had known Izaya for at least as long as Shizuo had. If he felt that something was really off about the guy, then there was likely some truth to that.

That ‘one person’ that Shinra had mentioned… Tsugaru didn’t want to hope, but it seemed so possible, so… desirable, he guessed. Of course, what he’d given voice to back then in that hospital room had been his true feelings. ‘Forget,’ he’d said, and ‘don’t cry’ – all of it a wish for Izaya to live happy. To free himself from the burden that a forever-absent Shizuo surely would have become.

But now was different. An impossibility had occurred, a ripple in reality that had created an odd quandary for both of them. Izaya… to forget would be to take hold of that freedom, the thing Shizuo had so fervently wished for him. To be happy, twisted and just the same as he always had been. But he would have to remember – would have to still be grieving, even now – if Tsugaru were to have a place in his heart. At his side. In his life.

He wanted that place, maybe more than he wanted this – these crazy fools who spoke of ‘anime’ and ‘boys’ love,’ this city and everything about it that felt like it belonged to Tsugaru. His old friends, his brother, his job and his comfortable habits.

He wanted Izaya more than all of that. “Sorry, I… have to go…” So much more that he could almost believe in Izaya as his real reason for coming back in the first place.

Walker caught Tsugaru by the shoulder as he turned to leave; his feet had started moving almost of their own accord. “Wait. There may be no point in asking, but are you okay with us spreading this information around a little bit?”

Information? About Heiwajima Shizuo’s return to life? Another urban legend?

Would it scare people, create some huge uproar or compromise his ability to live in this city?

But this was the second time he’d felt human contact since the evening before. No trace of fear or doubt, here, and no panic anywhere. He was close friends with another urban legend, regularly threw vending machines at a certain other infamous party – hell, he had always been well-known, a legend of sorts, himself. People had always talked about him online, and he’d never cared.

So why care now? Hell, he should have been spreading those rumors himself, should have been hoping that they’d help him meet up with people, that they’d help prepare them to meet him face-to-face.

“Do whatever you want.”

And he was off, feet pounding pavement and slipping just a little on slick snow and ice. Dodging passersby, breath cutting at his lungs, muscles pulling and Tsugaru not caring because somewhere, _somewhere_ in this roaring, freezing city was someone – a connection, a relationship – unfathomably important and of absolute necessity to Shizuo’s new start at life.

If Izaya was hurting, then Tsugaru would take that away. If he wasn’t, then, dammit, he’d work as hard as he had to in order to carve out a new niche for himself.

Not a copy, not an imitation of the long-past, but something new and warm and bright. Extraordinary, the way only Ikebukuro and its best informant could do it. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Because – because, just who was he kidding? There was no Shizuo, no hope or redemption in this city. He was lost – really lost, in every sense of the word, and he would only ever get himself more lost. Wasn’t like drinking would improve his sense of direction, after all.

Izaya generally avoided alcohol. It was excellent for loosening the lips of secretive humans, of course, but that was because of its potent ability to quell all common sense. The informant needed to be alert to his surroundings at all times, needed to reason his way through every word, thought, and action. Drink hindered his ability to do that, his job, so he abstained from it most of the time – it was as simple as that.

Besides – Izaya wasn’t the same as the pathetic humans who needed shots and bottles to get them through a day. His vices were not so base, and he was not so weak. Not so damaged, not in that much pain, not so severely lacking coherence.

Given all of that, then, what was with this situation?

_So much for rationality,_ Izaya mocked himself – bitter, lost, and bored, he was standing in front of a dilapidated old bar. Neon lights flashing almost invisibly, eclipsed as they were by the light of the sun – still loitering at the height of the dome of white-on-blue sky – and weeds leering up at the informant from spacious cracks in the sidewalk.

The informant was still curious, of course. He still wanted to know what was happening in this city, and he needed to be involved in it for his own sake. He was searching, really he was, but – well, this was just how things were for him lately. He cared. He did. But he cared a little bit less than he once had, and – what was the point – no great obstacle, no flash of dyed-blonde hair or flying vending machines to hold him back? Hell, he wasn’t even sure where he was, now. When had he forgotten the names of Ikebukuro’s streets?

Well – maybe around the same time that he started to find that it was difficult – almost impossible, even – to maintain a vested interest in much of anything for very long.

And what was he looking for, anyway? Was it anything tangible? Did he care about the reality at all, or was he simply looking for lies to lose himself in? Izaya had already admitted to himself that it was a fantasy which had drawn him out of his office today. Long before that, he had considered the possibility of heaven, had accepted without much surprise the existence of all sorts of supernatural phenomena in Ikebukuro.

Still, he didn’t believe in ghosts, spirits, zombies – death was a permanent state, after all, and no afterlife could include a return to the transient world of the living.

If he believed in something like that and it turned out to be false, after all, the informant couldn’t hope to recover.

What, then, was he doing? How could going inside now and drinking himself silly be any more pointless, any more ridiculously stupid than wandering without the motivation to conduct a proper investigation? How could it be worse than walking right on past those friends of Dotachin’s – Karisawa and Yumasaki, the infamous otaku couple – in spite of their obvious excitement? Something had to have been up – it could have mattered. Why hadn’t he bothered?

Might as well drink and forget and be lost as hell – sounded a lot better than aching feet and more empty actions.

He did – the door creaked loudly as it fell away from him, clicked shut and the bell that was needlessly attached to it announced his presence to no one. Finding the inside of the bar almost intolerably dark compared to the scintillation-on-all-sides of just moments ago, Izaya virtually had to stumble his way to the counter – as if he were drunk already, he realized, and the thought almost made him _eager_ to feel real intoxication.

“Whatever’s got the most alcohol,” he muttered to the bartender – damn that uniform, too, and now the informant was doubly prepared for some stumbling inebriation. Not to forget… no, it was – a temporary escape. A one-time thing.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit early for that?”

“If you think so,” Izaya grumbled irritably, “why do you bother staying open all day?”

The man paused in his drying of a just-washed shot glass and laughed. “Who knows? Maybe it’s because we expect people like you to drop by from time to time.”

The informant only sighed. He didn’t feel the need to explain that he wasn’t like other people – didn’t matter, did it, and he would be – for a while, just the same as any other down-and-out failure. Couldn’t be too bad, right? A new experience, an investigation. Living a little, or something.

He had motivation enough for that, at least.

Because – because, just who was he kidding? There was no Shizuo, no hope or redemption in this city. He was lost – really lost, in every sense of the word, and he would only ever get himself more lost. Wasn’t like drinking would improve his sense of direction, after all.

It could only make him forget – everything, and he laughed at the thought. He could feel it all slipping away – like water, like his name and his past and it was only temporary but what had Shizuo’s problem been, back when –

“No,” Izaya whispered. His stomach churned. “Shizu-chan, how come…”

Why the hell – everything, but you – Shizu-chan, you won’t…

You won’t disappear…

The bar was quiet – no other customers, no buzz of conversation or cacophony of human movement. None of the city’s noise reached Izaya in his conscious stupor – drink after drink, ignored suggestions that he quit and the edges of his awareness all fuzzy and buzzing hotly – and for once he was oblivious because he chose to be.

There was just one awareness which he couldn’t quell, not hours later – falling all over himself, mysteriously unable to see straight – not the moment he left the bar and not when he stumbled into the arms of someone on the sidewalk outside –

Blonde hair, blue eyes – startled, his voice vibrating in his chest and Izaya held close enough to feel that.

Ah, so this was what alcohol could do. This was – forgetting. It was hallucinating warmth and having a conversation with an imaginary ghost. It was his name not being called – but hearing it anyway and explaining himself to an illusion – “‘S your fault, Shizu-chan. I hadta drink – ‘cause I missed you…”

It was being carried back to his office on the back of a Heiwajima Shizuo who – just for now – had never really died.

_Please, Shizu-chan… don’t let me forget this… when I wake up…_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yes, he loved him. Yes, he wanted to see him. He wanted to talk to him, to feel him warm and alive in his arms. He wanted to feel those strong arms wrapped around him, too. He'd say it, this time.

Tsugaru didn’t know what to do with this – this broken man, every inch of clothing and skin reeking of alcohol. He spoke nonsense, mostly – garbled words and little meaningless laughs – but Tsugaru did his best to listen, anyway. Because Izaya had said he missed him, and that meant that he was welcome. Even drunk, even half-conscious, the informant claimed to be happy that his Shizu-chan was there. He smiled and bit back tears and didn’t the fact that he was this wasted this early say something right there?

Tsugaru shouldn’t have been happy. He wasn’t, because this was sort of his fault. That Izaya was hurting, that he was drowning himself in probably-not-cheap alcohol – that was Shizuo’s fault. For relying on Izaya, for loving him and for being loved, and then for dying.

He didn’t know what to do, but he thought it best to start with taking responsibility.

“Hold still,” he commanded gently, and Izaya tried – perched on the edge of probably his bed, but it could have been a guest room for all Tsugaru knew. Wasn’t exactly familiar with the layout of the informant’s house, after all, and it was strangely un-personal. No pictures, not much in the way of memorabilia. Books, though. Lots of books.

He found some sweatpants – good old sweatpants, worn and sloppy-looking – in the dresser. A shirt – too big, but that had to have been because Izaya preferred it like that. He took these and helped the informant into them, then peeled back the covers and lifted him like a doll onto the swathe of white under white.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya whined. “Ne, Shizu-chan.”

“Yeah, yeah,” the blonde muttered, and the familiar nickname was nostalgic every time it rolled off of the other’s lips. Probably in a good way, but the longing that came with it still felt a little wrong.

Izaya didn’t follow up with anything in particular, and Tsugaru finally left him to search for – something…

_Something_ wasn’t much to go on, but Tsugaru didn’t plan to stay, and he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave Izaya with nothing to wake up to. He’d probably forget this encounter, the blonde reasoned, but maybe that was better for now. Best to leave a little hint. Something that would ease the hangover Izaya was sure to wake up to – yes, that sounded good, and there was a bottle of pills… It seemed like it might help, and a glass of water would certainly do him some good either way.

Tsugaru brought those items back – noted the long-past expiration date on the pills and decided that they should be fine, anyway – and left them on the little table beside Izaya’s big, western-style bed.

No clocks anywhere, but there was a cell phone in the pocket of the discarded jeans. Tsugaru left that on the table, too – a clock, sort of, and maybe the informant would feel like calling someone. Shinra, he hoped, because that would mean the two of them meeting again. Of course, he might also need to call for help. That much alcohol could have some pretty ugly consequences…

…agh – he didn’t want to think about that. He couldn’t. Staying was impossible, so he’d just have to trust that Izaya would be okay on his own.

He didn’t write a note, but he left the lamp on anyway. It would probably be dark out by the time the informant woke up, after all, and he’d probably be disoriented.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya called to the blonde’s back. Tsugaru paused – missing Izaya more with every step but thinking that this was probably the best way to go about dealing with their reunion. “Come ‘gain next time I drink, ‘kay?”

Tsugaru frowned, then turned to let Izaya see his brow furrowed in frustration and concern. “Don’t drink again.”

 

Izaya woke up to an aching head and a cotton-coated mouth and throat. His stomach twisted a little in the first brief moments of consciousness, and his vision flagged before he blinked once – slowly, groggily – and hauled himself upright.

He had to wonder, at first, where the bar and the street had gone, but of far greater concern was the plight of his poor, hung-over body. His stomach ached and seemed to be twisting about inside of him, and his pounding head was busily providing him with a new definition for pain. It actually felt worse than it had after taking a few hits from Shizu-chan’s vending machines.

Maybe he’d walked all the way back to his own place – for that was where he was, he realized – but he had a gut feeling that said something different.

Blonde hair tickling, little puffs of warm breath in the chilly air and the heat of a strong back rising and falling with Izaya’s chest.

He tried to remember more – his face, hadn’t he turned around even once? Had he said anything, and had his voice been gentle or had it been aloof like a stranger’s?

Was it Shizuo?

No. No – he couldn’t get ahead of himself, and he’d been drunk off his ass. He probably still was, unless – what time was it, anyway?

A quick glance around, again, and there was his phone – illuminated by the orange light of the lamp he rarely used. He wouldn’t have left it on like that, and he didn’t remember taking the thing out of his pocket – or undressing, for that matter. It was just after five in the morning, and there was a glass of water waiting for him.

“My, how – sentimental,” Izaya rasped, surprised at just how much he felt like he needed that liquid on his throat.

He drank it all, then, in a just a few messy gulps. He ignored the medicine beside it; he wasn’t about to trust the random thing of pills that some stranger had left around for him.

If it really had been a stranger.

After all, no mere bystander would have known where to take Izaya – probably, hopefully, because secrecy was supposed to be Izaya’s strong suit. Maybe it had been a fellow informant, or something – but, no, no one like that cared enough for him to bother with anything as troublesome as this. No one he knew would ever be so sentimental as to take such good care of him – the water, the lamp, the phone and the clothes.

And no one he knew had hair like that, strength like that. No one felt the same – not even Shizuo, really, because _that_ nearness had been too fleeting to leave a real impression upon Izaya’s mind. He missed something he barely knew.

Still, it had felt right and familiar – like Shizuo probably would have, he thought.

Dammit. It wasn’t his style, head hurting or not, to just let things like this slide for long. He had to do what he could when he felt motivated to do it, after all, and he was motivated now.

Speed dial, number 5. Two rings, and then a click and a sprightly ‘hello.’

“Shinra.”

A forced pause, then – “What’s up, Orihara-kun?”

He’d obviously been up waiting for this call. That was promising.

“Let me talk to him,” the informant demanded. He couldn’t mince words with his head throbbing away like it was.

A short sigh. “Did it make you feel better?”

“What?”

“You’ve obviously had too much to drink. I imagine that a good deal of it is still in your system.” A near-silent exhalation, almost a second sigh. “Go back to bed.”

“Shinra,” Izaya growled. “I’m not – ”

“He’s worried sick about you.”

Oh. He was…

“Shizu… chan…?” He didn’t dare to hope, didn’t dare to feel. Just asked, because asking was his job. It was justifiable and just a little closer to being painless.

Shinra laughed. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Maybe I am,” Izaya winced. That pain, just now – it wasn’t only in his head.

The other line grew quiet, and then – “He’s still asleep.”

Izaya’s breath caught painfully in his suddenly-too-tight chest. His eyes stung, but he bit that back, bit back the short, sharp exclamation that threatened at his lips. Shook his head – back and forth, back and forth – and finally mumbled, “He’s alive…”

“He is.” Another pause, and Izaya imagined a silent smile. “Not going to ask how?”

“I just assume that you have no idea.”

“Well, you’re not wrong…”

“Go wake him up, Shinra. Please.”

_Please_ wasn’t something Izaya ever said with that level of sincerity, and he could hear Shinra hesitate on the other end.

“You can’t talk to him like this,” the doctor finally decided. Before Izaya could protest, he added, “Well, you have a lot to say to him, don’t you? The two of you should meet in person. And _you_ should be completely sober.”

“Shinra,” Izaya hissed.

“Alright, alright – look, I’ll let him know you called. He’ll probably want to go meet you right away, anyway.”

“…Fine. Just know that I’ll start calling you nonstop if Shizu-chan doesn’t show up within a reasonable amount of time!”

He could practically hear Shinra cringing, then, but what the doctor said next did not relate to the informant’s threat.

“Orihara-kun,” he said, all suddenly grave and somber, and that just didn’t sound good on Shinra. “What is he to you? You should think about it before you see him. You’d better know, because he's gone through a lot for your sake.”

_Click._

What the hell was that?

Shizuo was…

A thorn in his side. An interesting specimen – but not really, he’d be lying to himself if he insisted on something like that. A constant pressure, a chronic ache. A recurring thought, a persistent memory. Something he missed, something he’d thought he hated.

Important.

And, he finally dared to think, beloved. Yes, he loved him. Yes, he wanted to see him. He wanted to talk to him, to feel him warm and alive in his arms. He wanted to feel those strong arms wrapped around him, too. He’d known for a while that it was love, but that was a realization that didn’t come easily. It ducked in and out, faded and reshaped itself and came back stronger than ever before growing faint again. Izaya’s love was different – when it was the same, the normal kind, it felt so hard to grasp. It had hurt, so he’d hidden from it. Now he was facing it, though, and it was okay.

He’d say it, this time.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A proper meeting at long last.

Tsugaru didn’t waste any time in returning to Izaya’s apartment. He didn’t stop to eat, and he didn’t ask about the details; all he really needed was what Shinra initially told him – “Izaya called. He wants to see you.”

_He wants to see you._

He ignored the doctor’s protests – he’d just finished making breakfast, and was Tsugaru really going to leave before eating _again?_

Yeah. Sorry.

He could hardly even tolerate the few minutes it took to struggle his way into his newly-washed yukata – had to slow down a bit, then, just to avoid ripping huge holes in the fabric.

Barreling through the streets – and, yes, ‘barreling’ was exactly the right word to describe the blonde’s graceless attempts to maneuver his way through crowds of startled passersby. He somehow managed to bump into everyone he attempted to avoid, and he was probably very lucky that no one sustained anything worse than a touch of inconvenienced irritation.

The urge to rush – to hurry, to push everything else to the sidelines, because this might all be another dream from which they might both awaken to the same old nightmare – went double for Izaya. The informant – black hair unkempt, slept-in clothes and the sleeve of his T-shirt about ready to slip right off of his pale shoulder – opened the door within seconds of Tsugaru’s first hesitant knock.

All movement ground to a halt, then, and a bemused silence ensued – wide eyes tracing the outlines of familiar faces and unusual clothes. The meeting suddenly felt too delicate to be real, too impossible to actually exist. Words might break the illusion. Movement might shatter it.

Tsugaru broke the silence at length – took a quick breath and raised a hand in greeting. Smiled shyly and murmured, “Hey.”

That – the sound of the other’s voice, the flood of vague sensory memory that it triggered – shook Izaya maybe more than anything else had, and he took a stumbling step forward. Buried his face in Tsugaru’s chest and hoped that his trembling shoulders wouldn’t give him away too quickly.

“What’s with that ridiculous outfit, Shizu-chan?” he whispered, his voice muffled.

“Oh, this?” Tsugaru reached up to tug self-consciously at the yukata. “It’s kinda a long story…”

He realized only then that he hadn’t yet corrected Izaya – _not Shizu-chan, not really_ – but that hadn’t been his name to begin with, had it? He wasn’t Shizuo anymore – at least not in name – but Shizu-chan still felt okay. Annoying, but okay.

He tried to put some distance between himself and the informant, then, but Izaya – still shaking with what might’ve been intense emotion – responded immediately by tightening his arms about the blonde’s waist. “D-don’t even think about it, Shizu-chan,” he hissed, and Tsugaru blinked warily down at him.

“Are you sick? U-um, if you let go, I can get you some medicine… or something… You should lie down.”

Izaya shook his head. “Fine,” he muttered.

“O-okay?”

“I’m fine,” Izaya clarified, and still he refused to budge. Tsugaru took an uneasy few steps forward – Izaya still stubbornly following his movements – and then reached back to close the front door. He could feel his face growing hotter by the second, and Izaya’s strange behavior had pushed him wholly outside of his comfort zone.

Of course, it would have been exceedingly easy for him to just shove Izaya away. How could he, though? The informant had tolerated him when he’d done similar things, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t _like_ the nearness – it worried him, sure, but…

…Izaya was warm, stronger than he looked, and – as Tsugaru brought a hand up to rest it on the informant’s head – his hair was soft. The blonde played with it – smoothed it down, teased the tangles out – for a long moment before another sensation finally distracted him from that.

A hint of warm wetness, so slight that Tsugaru almost thought it might’ve been his imagination. It wasn’t, though – tears? Was that why Izaya was shaking so much? Why he wouldn’t show his face?

“I-Izaya…”

“Shut up.”

There was no mistaking that tone, and Tsugaru finally heaved a sigh. “I don’t mind, y’know.”

“I – I don’t care if you mind, Shizu-chan. _I_ mind.”

“You’re not mad?”

Izaya relaxed his grip slightly. “I certainly should be. You’re a real piece of work, you know? How long have you been around – or didn’t you really die to begin with?”

Those were the questions Tsugaru had been expecting – a welcome comfort, despite their great weight. “Yeah… Couple days…”

Izaya sighed. “I can accept that, then.”

“Don’t want me to prove it? I can lift something – a couch or something.”

The informant laughed softly. “I’d rather not have you breaking my furniture.”

“I wouldn’t,” Tsugaru responded defensively. “I can control it a lot better now!”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Not sure why, but it’s kinda harder to get angry.”

Izaya laughed. “If only you’d been like that from the start.”

Tsugaru grinned. “Right?”

“Don’t get the wrong idea, by the way. I don’t make a habit of drinking in your honor or anything. And I wasn’t really that upset. This is…” Izaya finally disentangled his arms from Tsugaru’s body, turned abruptly and bowed his head to prevent Tsugaru from getting a good look at his face. “It’s the first time I’ve cried.”

Tsugaru hid a smile behind one long sleeve. He really hadn’t had enough of Izaya’s honest side – the side that would seek comfort in him, that would hug him and cry and _admit_ to it. The side that didn’t have any kind of ulterior motive – Tsugaru could still tell. This was no lie, and they were both really here like this, together and alive. Happy, even.

“Ever?” he teased.

“Well, I’ve certainly never made as much of a habit of it as _you_ ,” Izaya retorted, slender hands curling inward to make hot-tempered fists at his sides.

“Hey, that’s low,” Tsugaru grumbled. Low enough, in fact, that Izaya couldn’t rightly complain about the retribution – Tsugaru’s hand heavy on his shoulder, his arms strong and insistent as he scooped him up from the floor.

His lips soft and gentle on Izaya’s, his breath gusting warm and moist across his tear-stained, still-wet cheeks. Both their eyes falling shut for that briefest of moments, and Izaya’s hands coming up to grasp at Tsugaru’s hair. The informant seemed to weigh practically nothing, yet the blonde could feel his heart pounding away in his chest long after the embrace finished.

“There’s your proof, by the way,” Tsugaru added with a sly grin – the kiss broken, Izaya wide-eyed and blushing in his arms. “Got anything else to say?”

Izaya looked almost like he wanted to fight his way out of Shizuo’s arms – this wasn’t a position to which he was accustomed, after all. It was undignified, and normally he wouldn’t stand for it. His head hurt, and he was suddenly very thirsty. His heart was racing right along with Tsugaru’s, but he didn’t necessarily want the blonde to know that.

So, yes – he _almost_ wanted to break away, but he opted instead for an embarrassed-but-eager nod. A bit of maneuvering in Tsugaru’s arms, and then a second peck on the lips – so quick that it might have gone unnoticed under different circumstances. A darkening flush to his cheeks, and then three words that elicited the very same reaction in Tsugaru.

“I l-love you…”

Awkward, halting, shy, verging on reluctant – and all the more sincere for that.

Tsugaru smiled, looked askance and hoped that that would somehow conceal his own blush. “Same here.” Izaya gave him a funny look, then, and he hastened to clarify – “I mean – I love you, too. Thanks.”

“What for, Shizu-chan?” Frowning, now, and joining Tsugaru in making a concerted effort to avoid looking his partner in the eyes.

“For waiting, I guess. For not freaking out or distrusting me.”

Izaya smirked. “I’m an informant, Shizu-chan. I don’t need you to tell me what’s what.”

Except for those times when he did – when he would. It was going to be nice, having someone else to rely on without the requirement of compensation. There would be a lot to do from here on out – people to talk to, public records to alter, scores to settle and wounds to heal. There would be a lot of learning, too – about each other, about what had transpired in a year of death and grieving.

There’d be time for all of it and more. The dream was over, and reality had begun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Izaya is such a tsundere... (Also, thanks for reading!)


End file.
